


the good left undone

by imaginedfables



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, Kate knows what she's about, Seth "can't keep my hands to myself" Gecko is alive and thriving, blame ashley for this, lari don't read this, liberties taken all over the place, look at these losers being in love, mexican honeymoon, minus the angst, season 2 au mostly, season 2 non canon compliant, seth will rather drown himself in the Nile than admit it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8747428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginedfables/pseuds/imaginedfables
Summary: There's a story where she stays.





	1. how can you not walk away after everything i've done?

**Author's Note:**

> I wholeheartedly blame Ashley - my supreme enabler - for this.

_“Not all love is gentle._

_Sometimes it’s gritty and dirty and possessive,_

_Sometimes it’s not supposed to be_

_Careful or soft at all._

_Sometimes it feels like teeth.”_

**-Azra T.**

…

It’d been inevitable, really.

Days and weeks of being in each other’s presence at all times had taken a toll on them.

Regret wasn’t falling into his bed.

It wasn’t the taste of cheap beer on his lips and the bitterness that lingered inside her mouth long after they were done. It wasn’t the resentment that bubbled in the pit of her stomach and stung like vile tearing her lungs apart when his side of the bed was cold and empty the morning after. It wasn’t the throb between her legs that reminded her of her loss of innocence or the cherry-red stains on her neck and chest that branded her as his for the world to see.

And, God, she was _his_.

Had been since the moment she stepped outside of that RV and asked if she could join him.

She just hadn’t known it, yet.

But she did now; felt it deep down to her bones and carried the weight of that realization like the heavy burden it would always be on her shoulders.

Regret wasn’t falling into his bed.

Regret was falling in love with him.

…

He comes back two hours later, with stale bread and cold coffee and apologies that sound fake to both their ears.

She tells him to stop and she’s kissing him again before the metaphorical door behind him can even slam shut.

He gave her an _out_ , and she didn’t take it.

His conscious is placated.  

This – _them_ – is on _her_ now.

…

He makes promises.

He makes so many goddamned promises.

At night, when they’re both in bed in another motel that reeks of mold and ash and death and she’s trying to remember what it felt like to fear God’s wrath for lying with a man who is not her husband, he pulls her against his chest and buries his nose in her hair as he whispers his dreams in her ear.

He talks about sunlit beaches and blue agave and waking up in a place where they won’t have to look over their shoulders and sleep with an eye open and a gun beneath their pillows.

She’s still not sure which of them both he’s trying to con with his pretty words.

Seth falters.  

And Kate doesn’t know what gives her away, but she knows that he knows she doesn’t believe him.

So he glides his hand from its safe resting place on her ribcage and goes _down down down_ until it’s slipping underneath the cheap elastic of her pink cotton panties and his mouth is on the juncture of her neck and his beard burns every time he brushes his lips up across her jaw but she lost her will to complain the second his fingers found their way inside every secret her body has ever tried to hide and all that’s left of her is _him_ and it should be _suffocating_ and she should be shoving him away but instead it just makes her dig her nails into his broad shoulders and tug him closer.

Seth pulls back just long enough to stare at her, question clear as day in his dilated pupils, and she spreads her legs wider as an answer.

This time, he’s still sleeping beside her in the morning.

…

Things get better.

His smiles are genuine and he grins at his own corny jokes and most times she caves and giggles along because his laughter is loud and obnoxious and it’s almost surreal how _normal_ boosting cars with him is starting to feel and sometimes his kisses are _soft_ and _gentle_ instead of _desperate_ and _possessive_ and he holds her hand when they go for a walk just as tight as he does when he’s buried inside her and he stops flinching when she tells him he’s got a good heart and she starts believing him when he says that it’s her who brings it out.

He pulls over on the side of an empty road while they’re driving across the desert and he tells her to switch seats with him because it’s about high-time she learnt a new trick and _‘no partner of mine is gonna frolic around without knowing how to drive the true beauty that is American Muscle_ ’ and he doesn’t mind when she nearly ruins the transmission on the classic Ford he’d shown up in two days before and she can’t stop laughing as she cringes out _sorry sorry sorry_ because she stepped on the brake instead of the clutch so fast that he lost his balance and banged his head on the dashboard.

She’s forgiven after she kisses it better.

And they’re both tired of shitty motels and the suspicious stares they get when they show up anywhere else so they slip into the back seat and it’s cold and cramped and all they’ve got is a beaten-up flannel blanket to keep them warm but her head is on his chest and his hands cradle her closer and she falls asleep to the soothing patterns his fingers trace along her spine and the realization that she’s fallen in so much deeper than she could have ever anticipated.

It doesn’t terrify her nearly as much as it should.

She’ll deal with it in the morning.

…

Things never stay the way we want them to for long.

…

A job goes wrong and they’re on the run and she’s got a busted lip and a bright red bruise quickly swelling up the left side of her jaw.

The dried blood on her shirt does not belong to her but it is a perfect match to the one staining Seth’s knuckles and she can’t close her eyes without seeing the barely-recognizable face of the culebra who’d tried to corner her against the wall behind the bending machines while she did recon and Seth walked around getting a feel for the place.

She’d been stupid and gotten distracted and it’d almost cost her everything and Seth had shown up just in time to pull the culebra who doubled as the night-manager off her but then he’d retaliated with a brutality that was nothing short of _vicious_ until she’d pulled the stake he always made her carry out of her purse and stabbed the writhing man on the floor to put him out of his misery.

Seth’s shaking, still kneeled on the dirty concrete, but he won’t look at her – just yells at her to _get in the fucking car_ and he _drives drives drives_ until the sun rises and she tries not to – she really does – but the silent tears start falling and she doesn’t know if it’s the shock or the adrenaline or the trauma of her near-encounter catching up to her but she can’t stop.

He stops the car.

And now it’s her turn to avoid looking at him.

She preps herself for what she knows is coming – the yelling and the lectures and the condescending speeches with the scathing remarks he’s so infamous for – and she’s not disappointed when he opens his mouth and starts telling her everything she did wrong and how she’d be long gone if he hadn’t show up on time and how he should have known she wasn’t ready and trusted his instincts.

She looks out the window and keeps her mouth shut.

And then Seth is pulling on her arm and forcing her to turn his way and his dirty hands are cupping her face and he’s pressing his lips against hers with a desperation that is nothing short of _brutal_ and his teeth bite down on her busted lip as a vivid reminder that _she is his_ and he’ll never let anyone take her away from him and when they break apart it’s to his ‘ _Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me’_ and her _‘I can’t believe I was so stupid’_ and his fingers are brushing back stray strands of her hair and when he kisses her again it’s tender and soothing and she can _almost_ swear it’s his way of telling her he loves her.

…

“Where are we going?” she asks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and checking the time on the car’s clock. He’s been driving for over six hours straight and she doesn’t recognize any of the names flashing across the road.

Seth smiles, reaching for her hand and lifting it to his lips for a quick peck that warms her heart before resting their joined fingers back on her lap.

“I’m getting us the fuck out of this place, Princess.”

…


	2. cause i've done some things that i can't speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I sold my soul to Ashley a couple of months ago on tumblr and she demanded this as payment.  
> Blame her for everything.

_“I need you to be a monster_

_Which is to say_

_I am trying not to love you_

_Which is to say_

_I am still dreaming of kissing your claws.”_

**-Fortesa Latifi**

…

They’re back to another motel.

…

It’s the worst one they’ve ever stayed in and that’s saying something, given how low the bar has been set for so long. The walls are three different shades of faded green and the popcorn ceiling is cracked and peeling and covered in mold and there’s a stain on the rug that she can swear is dried blood and her breath gets caught in her throat when he drops their bags by the bed that’s been crammed against the corner.

Sometimes she still forgets how she ended up here.

Sometimes she still regrets it.

He offers her first shower and she doesn’t question it, grabs one of the towels the clerk gave them and turns on the spray so hot she knows her skin will turn bright red and the mirrors will fog up. It shouldn’t matter anymore, but the face of the culebra who’d attacked her two days ago is still stuck in her head and the familiar wave of guilt she’s been trying so hard to run from always catches up to her in the end. She thinks of her brother, and wonders if he’s met a similar fate.

And then Seth steps into her shower, and there’s no room left in her for anyone but him.

 _“Come here,”_ he whispers, reaching for her hand and barely grazing her arm with the tips of his fingers. He’s always been careful of that – always done his best to even a playing field where he’s so far ahead it almost pathetic how easily he could completely take control. He’s always tried to make it clear to her that she’s always allowed to say ‘ _no’_ and he’s always made it known just how aware he is that he doesn’t _deserve_ her.

It’s always been her _choice_.

So, she goes to him. And her head is on his chest and his chin is resting on top of her head and he pulls them both under the hot water and he holds her to him until all the soap stops swirling down the drain and he promises _‘this is the last one, sweetheart,’_ and he doesn’t press for sex even though she can feel him hardening against her stomach and she tries to show him how much his gesture of genuine _comfort_ and _understanding_ means to her when he turns around to face the shower spray and she wraps her arms around his hips and leaves a trails of kisses along his shoulder blades.

Sometimes she wonders how she’s ever thought she could leave him.

…

She’s sitting in the middle of a crowded marketplace while she waits for their lunch order to be ready and Seth to come back from his so-far fruitless search of someone to forge their new passports when a boy takes a seat on his empty chair.

He can’t be more than maybe three or four years older than her, and she’s more than aware of the curious stares from the other shop owners to know that he must be a local. He tells her his name is Rafa and slides his arm around her with an audacity and faux ease that leaves her stunted and she doesn’t have the time to protest before he’s digging his fingers into her arm and warning her to play along if she doesn’t want lose her best shot at not becoming a target.

She bites her tongue and flashes him her widest smile.

Three men with twice as many guns pass by and stare at her – stare at the young American girl with her pale skin and green eyes the same way Tanner had when he’d tied her to that altar and she has to fight every instinct she has to stop herself from immediately searching for lover. The boy – Rafa – nods at them and they start to walk away but his arm stays firmly in place until they disappear into a hair salon and she can finally breathe again.

She tries to thank him but he waves it off and then informs her that he knows what she’s after and that no one here can help them before turning adamant that the woman who runs the tattoo parlor is not to be trusted. He’s got a friend of a friend who’ll do the job, though, and he can get them their ticket out if they stick around long enough.

For a price, of course.

And this boy is odd and he’s much too forward and the condescending way he speaks makes her feel like he thinks she’s an idiot he has to take pity on but somehow she knows that she can trust him. He feels like the people in her life before all of this happened. He feels like he could be a friend.

He’s also gone with a peck against her cheek.

He says it’s for appearances, but nobody’s watching.

…

She’s wrong, about nobody watching.

She knows it the second her eyes meet Seth’s and all the warmth from the night before has disappeared and all that’s left is anger.

She doesn’t need experience on her side to recognize that he’s jealous of a literal stranger.

As if she would ever.

As if she hadn’t already given him everything she had to give.

As if he doesn’t know as much.

…

He’s such an idiot sometimes that it hurts.

…

Twenty minutes later and they’re back in their motel room and he’s got her pinned against the wall with nothing but her bra on and her legs resting on his shoulders, whole body shaking as his mouth and tongue work her over and his hands grip her hips so tight the bruises he’s so obviously aiming for will no doubt manifest themselves come morning.  Her hands are in his hair and her head is thrown back and her eyes are shut tight and she cries out when he pulls back just far enough for his teeth to nip at her inner thighs. Her breath is erratic and her heart is pounding and she’s almost _there_ when she hears him murmur ‘ _look at me, Princess,_ ’ and she _wants_ to listen, wants to give him everything he needs, but she’s _close close close_ and it’s taking all her concentration to remind herself how to breathe.

He’s not satisfied with that response.

‘ _Look at me,’_ he demands, waiting until her eyes snap open and look down to find his own and _God_ , his mouth and his chin are a mess that’s all _her_ and he licks his lips when he catches her staring at them and his fingers dig into her skin just a little bit harder and he’s smirking and smug when she’s so shaken that she almost loses her balance. He doesn’t let her fall. Instead, he lifts her hips higher and then his mouth is back on her and he doesn’t stop until he’s sent her over the edge over and over again.

By the time he decides to move them away from the dirty wall she’s too dazed to do much besides hold onto him while he carries her over to their shared bed. She gathers her strength and leans back on her elbows, watching as he watches her while he stands on the edge and patiently shrugs out of his clothes. The contrast is staggering and it makes her self-conscious, but she will not back down from his challenge.

She will always be his equal.

 _‘That’s right, baby girl,’_ he praises once he’s inside her and her legs are wrapped around him and he’s sure she’s tasted herself on his tongue and his fingers are lost between them. _‘Look at who makes you feel this fucking good.’_

It’s euphoric, even if his arrogance is infuriating.

…

He’s finally satisfied he proved his point, though.

Thank God for small miracles.

…

They wake up two hours later and she’s starving because they both skipped lunch and he’s gone only long enough to raid the sorry excuse for a liquor store on the corner and she’s only got time to slip on his shirt before he’s barging back in with ice cream and box of sweet bread.

He pauses for a moment, placing their food down on a nightstand and kneeling down beside where she’s sitting cross-legged on the bed.  He leans forward, fingers tenderly lifting her chin up, and kisses her in a way that feels both timid and raw.

It’s her favorite kiss he’s ever given her.

“You okay with all that?” he asks when they break apart, a flicker of uncertainty and worry clear in his eyes.

She knows what he’s really asking her, and she doesn’t have to think about her answer.

“Yeah,” she nods, shifting on the bed so she can curl up against his side, smiling when he shifts as well so he can comfortably pull her closer. “I think we’re good, partner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think!  
> huge thanks to everyone who takes the time to leave me kudos and a comment!


	3. i am heaven-sent, and don't you dare forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame Ashley for everything.   
> Title comes from Brand New.

_He says,_

_“I’m sorry I am not an easy person to want”_

_I look at him surprised_

_“Who said I wanted easy?_

_I don’t crave easy._

_I crave goddamn difficult.”_

-Rupi Kaur

They meet with Rafa two days later to discuss what it is exactly that he’s looking to trade for their passports.

He has to have guessed by now that they don’t have too much money – they wouldn’t be staying in the shitty motels that they do and risking all that they are by scrapping the bottom of the barrel in hopes of finding a way out of Mexico if they had any better options – so he _has_ to be after something else.

She’s not wrong.

He needs help.

Desperately.

And it’s not even himself that he’s asking it for.

Apparently, those same men who’d eyed her in the marketplace had been tormenting their community for years now, harassing and exploiting honest and hardworking people day after day – taking them for all that they had and stomping them out when they had nothing left to give. They’ve taken something – if not _everything_ – from everyone who’s ever had the misfortune of crossing their paths.

He wants to hit them back.

And that, well, that’s a feeling that she and Seth can understand.

…

Of course, understanding a situation doesn’t make her lover any easier to deal with.

Not when it’s her life that’s being placed in danger.

Not when he’s made it his life’s purpose to protect her.

…

Her job is to play bait.

It’s risky and the variables shift every ten seconds and there’s going to be a seven-minute window where she’ll be on her own and it’ll be entirely up to her whether Seth can break into the hair salon quietly enough to keep the surprise factor in their favor. There are no guarantees that anything will go according to plan or that they’ll all make it out without anything more than a few cuts and bruises. 

Seth hates it.

Violently and vocally.

It takes them three days of pleading and bargaining and sometimes outright yelling to convince him that she can handle being a part of Rafa’s con and she’s frustrated with him for not understanding why she _needs_ to do it and he’s furious because he thinks she doesn’t realize what she’s getting into – what she’s asking him to _help_ her get into – and he’s adamant about repeating to her that _‘this is not a fucking game’_ and _‘I can’t pull this off if I have to be watching out for you, too’_ and _‘you ain’t got shit to prove.’_

She does, though.

Not to him or Rafa or her brother or any of the other monsters who’d chased after them, but to _herself_.

She will not live her life in fear, cowering behind the man she loves.

She will not stand by and let an injustice she can stop go by unpunished.

And she will not be anyone’s _victim_.

She was raised better than that.

…

They make it out of the hair salon with a bag full of cash, all their bullets, and high off adrenaline.

They’re still running towards the car when Seth starts laughing and calls their work a masterpiece.

And they need to get the hell out of dodge – need to drive away as fast as they can before the unconscious thugs they’d left behind in the backroom of the salon wake up and call for reinforcements or before the police shows up, but that doesn’t deter him from reaching for her arm and stopping her before she can slide into the passenger’s seat and then he’s pressing her against the side of the car and his hands are in her hair and he’s kissing her like they’ve got all the time in the world and her heart swells when he pulls back just enough for her to feel his wide grin on the edge of her lips.      

_“You’re better than any fucking muse there’s ever been, sweetheart,”_ he murmurs, one last tender kiss on her collarbone, and then he’s pulling her back into reality.

They need to go.

…

Kate’s facing out the window, enjoying the cool breeze against her still-flushed cheeks while he drives them back to their motel room. The money’s in the backseat and she’s too riled up to do much besides listen to the Spanish song she can’t quite understand playing on the radio as she’s lulled into a soothing moment of _peace_.

Her eyes have just closed and the relieved sigh that’d been stuck in her throat all night long has barely left her lungs when she feels his hand land on her knee before slowly working its way up between her thighs, fingertips purposely tickling her through the thick material of her jeans, and she doesn’t have to open her eyes to know he’s smiling when she smacks his hand away and he makes some dirty joke about how he was just trying to help her work off the excess adrenaline.

He reminds her that he’s good for his word the second they get home.

She tells him to focus because they still have a plan to follow.

He groans in frustration at the reminder, but then shrugs it off and tells her he can wait a couple of more hours to properly satisfy her.

He’s a fucking _artist_ , after all, and hadn’t he just called her his muse not an hour ago?

She deserves to be properly worshipped.

…

She’s sitting on their bed, legs neatly crossed underneath her as the stacks of bills from the bag lie sprawled in front of her. They’d made a deal to trade half the money for their passports, and even though Seth had made some offhanded comment about taking it all and hightailing it for the open road, she is not about to commemorate the night by ripping off good people and leaving nothing but bad blood between them and the only person who’d tried to genuinely help them in past four months.

Rafa is supposed to show up in half an hour with their passports, and they’re leaving this goddamned town right after.  

They’ve both had enough of surviving this way.

They’re finally going to have a chance to start _living_.

So, she’s counting – quickly sorting through it all as he double checks that the few belongings they have to their name have all been tucked away inside the black duffel bags she’d packed earlier while he loaded his guns and made her repeat every step of the plan to him aloud. He won’t stop looking at her, though – be it over his shoulder or out of the corner of his eye or just plain stopping to stare at her like she’s some sort of _revelation_ that he can’t quite convince himself is real.

It’s not something new for him.

He’s always doing that – watching her with something that looks a lot like an unorthodox mixture of _awe_ and _desire_ and _disbelief_ flooded in the _warmth_ that he is – like he’s afraid that she’ll disappear if he blinks; like she’s _everything_ he’s ever wanted or needed.

It never fails to leave her breathless.

And she doesn’t do much praying these days – hasn’t felt the need to beg forgiveness for allowing herself to find _hope_ when the world tried to desolate her – but she’ll send a quick reverence up to God that she never gets used to that look in his eyes.

She never wants to forget what this love feels like.

…

“We’re actually doing it,” she whispers, fingertips tenderly dancing up along the length of his sleeve as they follow the faint path of dark flames that are barely visible through the translucent material of his shirt. The sun is out bright and gorgeous, not a cloud to be seen in the middle of the desert he’s driving them through, and she makes a mental note to send her thanks the next time she goes down on her knees to pray.

There were some things and moments that just deserved it.  

Although, if she’s being completely honest, it wouldn’t matter much if it was pitch-dark outside; they’d both memorized every inch of each other long before either took off their clothes. She didn’t need to _see_ him to know which parts of him to touch. She didn't need to touch him to make an impact. “We’re getting out of this place.”

“I gave you my word, didn’t I?” he teases her, but there is a lightness – a _relief_ – in him that wasn’t there the night before. “I’m going to give you everything that you deserve.”

His promises are coming easier than ever, and her doubts turn into nothing more than flickers in the rearview mirror.  

…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is later than expected because I wrote this entire chapter as pure angst and immediately regretted that decision, thus, the rewrite.   
> I hope that everyone liked it! Let me know what you thought and where you think this story is going!   
> Thanks to everyone who's been so lovely with your messages here and on tumblr, they really mean the world to me!


	4. i will love you when you are a hurricane.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mexican Honeymoon we all deserved.

_“This is how we heal._

_I will kiss you like forgiveness._

_You will hold me like I’m hope_

_… and I will not be afraid of your scars.”_

- **Clementine Von Radics**

…

 

They head south.

…

It’s been just a little bit over three months since they’d left that goddamned motel and their life, well.

It gets so much better.

It’s not like anything she could have ever imagined a year ago.

God, it’s not like anything she could have imagined _three months_ ago.

There’s no trace of the mandatory five a.m. wake-up call her family had adopted as routine the same year they’d brought Scott home; none of her Daddy’s horrid singing making her giggle as he butchered their eardrums without a care in the world; none of her brother’s snarky jokes and wide smiles as he flashed his camera in her face and threatened to post pictures of her in her flannel pajamas online; none of her mother’s gentle hands brushing back her hair and reminding her how proud she is of her little girl.

None of everything that used to be her home.

She misses them so much her soul hurts.

But that doesn’t mean she’s grown static.

And it sure as hell doesn’t mean her heart has turned cold, either.

Seth would never allow it.

…

Those promises he’s been whispering in her ear?

He keeps them.

…

They settle down in a tiny house by the beach, right on the outskirts of Veracruz.

It’s supposed to be temporary.

They’ve got enough money from the job they pulled with Rafa to hold them over for a couple of months – just enough until all the heat on the Geckos completely fizzled out and until they could be sure that no more culebras were out trying to track them down – and all they want to do is lay low and just take a moment to catch their breaths.

So, they find this house – with it’s one bedroom and almost non-existent living room and a kitchen that can fit exactly two people at a time and the floorboards on the front porch creek from old age and overuse and it’s got about zero insulation so they’ll either freeze or melt depending on the weather and it’s more windows than walls and they’re basically isolated and have to take a twenty minute walk if they need something from the store - and the girl she was a year ago would have hated everything about this place.

But she’s not that girl anymore.

And where she would have done everything in her power to go back to her old life before, there’s something about this place that makes her feel like she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be and who she’s supposed to be there with.

Maybe it’s the fact that for once in both their lives there’s no expectations for them to live up to – no role they have to fill or part to play – and they’re allowing themselves the luxury of _time_ they’d never really had before. Maybe it’s the fact that they can both sleep through the night now without having a nightmare wake them up. Maybe it’s how Seth stops immediately reaching for his gun every time the wind blows a little too hard and makes a loud noise and maybe it’s how he tucks it away in the nightstand instead of underneath his pillow. Maybe it’s how the sadness and guilt that had tried to consume them had been slowly melting away since the first day they got in that corvette and now they’d reached a point of acceptance and understanding and dependency in each other that binds them in a way tragedy could never break.

Or maybe it’s the little things.

Maybe it’s how light floods their home with every sunrise and sunset. Maybe it’s how the cool breeze from the shore causes the bamboo windchimes she’d hanged by their front door to ring in a peaceful melody all day long. Maybe it’s how Seth makes a show out of complaining about it when she tells him she wants to go looking for seashells or when she asks him to take her into town in search of books she can read in English or when she drags him into the photo booth outside the arcade but still holds her hand the entire time and follows her wherever she wants to go.

Maybe it’s how he makes it clear to everyone they meet that she’s his girl.

Maybe it’s how it’s taking a much more constant effort on her side to stop herself from confessing her love for him at any given moment.

Maybe it’s how they’ve become each other’s family.

Or maybe it’s how she’s never loved anyone else the way she loves him.

And it’s supposed to be temporary, this home that they’ve built, but.

But.    

She never wants to leave it, and she has a feeling that neither does he.  

…

She turns eighteen.

Kate wakes up to Seth’s calloused fingertips smoothly sliding underneath her shirt, giggling when they purposely brush across her ribcage just because he knows she’s ticklish and loves to see her smiling and happy. He grins at the sound, curling against her back and pulling her body closer to his own so he can bury his nose in her hair and press a kiss against her collarbone.

“Morning, Birthday Girl.”

His voice is still hoarse from sleep, and she gets lost in its steady rumble when his mouth travels up the length of her throat – gently nipping and using his tongue to soothe the light sting he leaves behind in the way he knows she likes best. Kate arches her neck, giving him all the access his insistent lips demand, and she’s just about to turn so she can kiss him properly when she hears him whisper, “how’s it feel to be legal?”

The laugh that bubbles out of her lungs is anything but elegant.

“Very funny,” she scoffs, pulling away from him and sitting up despite his groan in protest, smiling when his hands reach out for her own. Kate takes it, lacing their fingers together and looking back at him over her shoulder and his grin widens when he catches the mirth that’s clear as day on her face. “We both know you appreciate that so much more than I do.”

“ _Fuck yes_ ,” he immediately agrees, and she doesn’t even have the time to answer him back with the snarky remark hanging on the tip of her tongue when he’s lifting himself off the mattress and pinning her underneath him. Kate feels her heart speed up the same way it does every time he touches her and there’s something sinfully delicious she thrives in about the way her body has grown so accustomed to everything about his own that it can run on nothing but instinct as her legs part open and bend upwards to cradle his hips between them. “We have to celebrate this occasion accordingly.”

“Should I take today as an example of how you want to celebrate your fiftieth birthday next year?” she questions him, faux confusion fusing into full-blown laughter when he pinches her hip in retaliation.

“Keep it up, Sunshine,” he quips, far too smug at the gasp he steals out of her when he grinds his groin against her before reaching down to squeeze her thigh and guide her legs around his waist. She complies, shifting her hips to accommodate his intimate proximity and sighing when he does it again. “You haven’t exactly been complaining about this old man.”

“Aww,” she coos, lifting a hand to brush across the stubble on his jaw and then further back onto his left temple. “It’s okay, babe. I like your grays.”

He joins in on her laughter, which is quickly replaced with a squeal when he grabs onto her hips and flips them over until he’s flat on his back and she’s sitting up on his lap with her palms spread flat on his chest as she tries to regain her balance. He tugs at the hem of the cotton shirt she’d taken out of his drawer to sleep in and she gets the point, pulling it over her head and effectively leaving them both in nothing but their underwear.

“You’re so gorgeous, sweetheart,” he mutters against her lips the second she leans down to kiss him.

And this is how she spends her birthday.

Rolling around on their bed with him, laughing at all his corny jokes and enjoying his genuine and contagious smiles as he kisses her and touches her in all the way he knows she loves the most.

…

It’s nearing sunset when he tells her that they’re going out for a walk on the beach, and when they come back home an hour later there’s a bag full of food with a box right beside it waiting for them on the kitchen counter and a note that reads _Felicidades, Gatita!_ on top and Kate knows that somehow Seth – who still could not speak a full sentence in Spanish to save his life – had conspired with Maribel, the elderly woman who ran Kate’s favorite bakery in town and treated them both as if they were her children, to surprise her with a chocolate cake. She can’t stop giggling at the picture he must have painted while he struggled to get this planned for her with a team of well-meaning ladies that barely understood him, and she loves him just a little bit more for it.

Seth picks up the box of cake and grabs a spoon before guiding her back onto their couch, telling her in no uncertain terms that he deserves a fucking award for all his hard work and she rolls her eyes at him and tells him to feel lucky that she’s sharing her cake with him in the first place while reminding him he has nothing to complain about since by now every single one of Maribel’s friends probably knew what he’d done and he’d have them all swooning over how charming he was. Seth grins, completely satisfied with himself, and she grabs for a cushion and smacks it against his arm to deflate his ego just a tiny bit.

“Hey, keep that up and you’re not getting your present,” he warns her, but the words have no weight because he’s already walking away and reaching into the top of the storage closet for an elegantly wrapped box with a bright green bow and coming back to sit beside her. “Happy Birthday, Princess.”

Kate stares at him as he hands her the box, carefully lifting the top and setting it aside to find a polaroid camera and four packages of film nestled on a bed of shiny tissue paper.

“It’s a new life, right?” he asks, running a hand through his hair in a nervous tick that always gives him away. “I thought maybe we should start keeping memories of it.”

This gift, and every implication that comes with it?

It means everything.

Kate feels her throat clog up and tears fill her eyes and for a moment she can’t speak and she doesn’t find her voice until worry covers his face and he starts apologizing and telling her she can pick something different if she doesn’t like it and she gently places the box on the coffee table in front of her so it won’t get damaged when she leans towards him and presses a tender kiss to his lips.

“It’s absolutely perfect,” she pacifies him, climbing on top of his lap and resting her hands on his shoulders when his own find her hips – waiting until his eyes meet hers so he can feel the sincerity in her words. “I love it. Thank you.”

He answers back with another kiss.

…

Later that night, after they’ve eaten their cake and are basking in the afterglow of sex, when they’re both exhausted and curling into each other for the comfort they’ve only ever experienced with one another, he manages to surprise her one more time.

“Are you happy?” he asks, voice barely audible in her ear as his fingers continue to trace a soothing path along her spine.

He’s so strong – both physically and mentally – so great at making her feel safe and sheltered and cherished even as he pushes every limit in her heart and body, and yet she’s never heard him sound or feel so vulnerable. As if he doubts she’s satisfied with her life beside him. As if he still can’t really believe that’s she would ever choose to stay with him. As if he thinks that she deserves better than anything he could ever give her.

He knows she’s safe, but that isn’t enough for him.

He wants her _happy_ and _thriving_.

And he still doesn’t understand how much she loves him.

“I am,” she vows, smiling when she looks up at him. “ _You_ make me happy.”

Seth won’t stop staring at her, studying her face for any traces of uncertainty and nodding to himself when he finds nothing but honesty in it. The tension in his shoulders eases, and when his hand comes up to cup her cheek, she’s more than glad to lean into his touch.

“Then what would you say about us sticking around here, a little more permanently?” he questions, and his words sound like a dream. “Think you’d be up for that?”

He’s asking her to build a life – build a _future_ – with him in this place that’s become their home, properly this time.

He’s asking her for _everything_.  

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathes out, not needing a single second to consider her response. “God, yes.”

Seth smiles, eyes bright. “Really?”

Kate nods, and she’s not sure who initiates their kiss but it doesn’t really matter anymore. Not when he pulls back just long enough to tell her _‘thank you’_ and _‘you make me happy, too’_ and there’s no time left for words after that because they’re too busy celebrating their night in the best way they know how.

It’s as close to perfect as they’ll ever be.

…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, this chapter is twice the length it was supposed to be and I'm sorry about absolutely none of it.  
> Let me know what you think about it, and what you think is gonna happen next!


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